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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415208">Life in the Desert</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl'>KendylGirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Mild Angst, True Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:47:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,578</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When the <i>Dune</i> trailer is released, Armie and Tim look at what lies ahead, which seems to shift like desert sands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>195</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Life in the Desert</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Once I had an image in my head of Tim waiting for Armie's reaction to the trailer for his imminent blockbuster, I couldn't let it go; this story wanted to be born, so I hope you enjoy it!</p><p>Thank you, Willowbrooke, for coming through for me once again.  You're a rock!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> &lt;Did you see it?&gt; </em>
</p><p>I tap Send and watch the question pop into a blue bubble and hang alone in the cloud.</p><p>Pace.  </p><p>Three steps to the balcony.  Watch the crawl of Paris traffic five floors below me under a thick deck of clouds.  </p><p>Three back to the bedroom.</p><p>Again.</p><p>Again.</p><p>Scratch at my throat and click out another couple of lines.   &lt;<em>You got the link, right? Tell me what you think</em>&gt;</p><p>Pause.</p><p>
  <em> &lt;Please??&gt; </em>
</p><p>Wipe at my eyes, the tears in the corners that haven’t stopped flowing all day.</p><p>
  <em> &lt;Come on, this is killing me!&gt; </em>
</p><p>I shove the phone into my back pocket and dip into the bathroom, flick on the cold water and fill the plain glass next to the sink until it sloshes out over my hand, then guzzle it down in one go.</p><p>I stare hard at my reflection, how pale my skin looks now compared to when it sizzled in the desert sun just two short weeks ago, when I had been happy to hide under the hotel’s awning, to fall onto one of the benches and lean against him despite the heat, sigh when his strong arm had closed around me, his scruff combing through my hair whenever his cheek had rested on the top of my head.  I had picked speckles of white paint off of his forearm while he’d murmured to me, told me about the mysteries of the Joshua Tree, how all of this arid sand had been crafted from torrential rains and desperate wind.</p><p>“How could anything survive like this?” I’d asked him one night while the horizon changed from pink to orange to purple.</p><p>“How’s that?”  And his voice had been a rich, dark mahogany, a peace settled into it that I don’t think I’d ever heard before.</p><p>“In this fucking heat.  It’s a wasteland out there.”</p><p>“Only from a distance.”  He’d snugged me closer, massaged my shoulder, his roughened thumb scratching over the skin of my collarbone like a lion’s tongue, pulling off parts of me, digesting me slowly.  I’d laid my head back against his shoulder, let his fingers press down and find the gaps in my ribs.  “When you look closely,” he’d whispered to me, “you can see so much life out there, Tim.  It can really take your breath away.”  </p><p>My eyes had blurred under the spell cast by the rhythm of his fingers and the smell of his sweat, by the boiling heat of him where he’d touched me that had left the rest of my skin cold and numb, vulnerable to the breeze that had kicked up suddenly and died the same way.</p><p>I’d turned my face into the bend of his neck.  “Armie…”</p><p>He’d shifted smoothly and brought me up onto his lap, then held my face in both hands and looked at me for a long time, eyes moving methodically around my face, his brows pinched enough to draw mine together as well.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” I’d breathed, my fingers twisting into his dampened t-shirt.  “What hurts?”</p><p>“I…”  He’d swallowed, his throat thick.  “I just need to...to make sure.”</p><p>“Of what?”</p><p>“That you...that you are...that you haven’t…”  And his voice had given out, so his eyes finally had settled on mine.  They had been deep wells, indigo like the fading light.  “That nothing is different.  That you haven’t changed on me.”</p><p>“We’ve talked almost every day,” I’d said helplessly.  “How could I have?”  Unease had been gnawing at me by then, and I’d shivered.</p><p>I’d wanted to go to him, but he’d still held me firmly at a distance.  His hands had shifted, gentle and careful, cradling my skull like a jewel.  I’d felt the thumb swipe against the hinge of my jaw, the curve of my ear.</p><p>“That’s not the <em> same</em>, Timmy, and you know it.”  And his eyes had stayed with mine, but they were still searching, like they’d lost something, a memory still hidden in the dark, an impossible plea for the sun to stop in the sky.  They’d hovered there, and finally I’d realized that it was fear that gripped them, that he was not sure of me, not sure if his eyes were allowed to see all of me like they once did, like they always had, like he somehow needed permission now, an acceptance of what his gaze wanted to reclaim, like there’d ever be a time when that was not possible.</p><p>“But <em> I am</em>,” I’d hissed at him, tears choking me.  “I am the same person who <em> loves </em> you!”</p><p>His gaze had grown darker, more haunted.  “How do you know that?”</p><p>“<em>Because I’m still fucking breathing!</em>”  The words had spit out of my mouth, sprayed his face in a mist, dripped off my chin in fat drops.  My throat had collapsed, making my next breath a thin wheeze because it wouldn’t give up.  The air he gives me is the strongest force in my body, and it won’t stop, not ever, not even when everything around it wants to plug it up and keep it contained.  “Armie…”</p><p>That was his breaking point.  His face had smoothed out in a blink, a small whimper curdling out of him as he’d brought my mouth to his, and he’d tried at first to direct me from the soft hold he had on my hair, but I’d shoved him back flat against the rise of the bench and clutched the back, bringing my leg around him so I was straddling him, above him, pushing him down.  </p><p>I’d bit his jaw, watched him fall back, willing and beautiful, eyelids fluttering, waiting for what I wanted.  </p><p>So I’d smiled slowly.  </p><p>Then I’d licked a slow stripe up his chin, across his lips, to the tip of his nose.</p><p>He’d grabbed my waist, pulled me down hard into his lap, a soft groan swallowed by my own throat, and I’d stroked his tongue with mine, caressed it, reassured it, his soft lips sliding over mine easily, naturally.  A perfect fit.</p><p>My perfect fit.</p><p>It actually makes me smile now, and I sigh, run my fingers through my hair, dig into the corners of my eyes and smooth out my eyebrows.  I flick off the bathroom light and wander back into the bedroom, dig into my pocket and stare at the blank surface of my phone for three seconds before throwing it down and sinking onto the bed, tugging at my hair.</p><p>Where is he?  Is he mad at me?  Did he hate the trailer and doesn’t know how to tell me?  Is he out, hoofing the streets of L.A. with yet another girl?  Blind Gossip will have an orgasm over that.</p><p>And there’s the acid again, no matter what I do to control it.</p><p>I have no room for jealousy, no right to it at all.  I’ve handled everyone of those pap appointments horribly, figuring that if I go full blast, I could show the world how farcical it all was by how outrageous my behavior could be.  And since orange trunks and railing clutching and grotesque carp kisses didn’t seem to work, I went completely ballistic in June, ingesting my weight in narcotics to make it all bearable.  When I’d seen the pictures later, I could scarcely believe that it was me.  I’d been so wasted I didn’t even remember a single thing that had happened; if G hadn’t been there with me, I’d probably have ended up face down on the beach, drinking the sand.  And I relished every Twitter roast that followed because I prayed it meant that I was done, that I was free.  That “he’s too busy to date” could finally be my out until I could be...well, <em> out</em>.</p><p>I wasn’t thrilled by Evelyn’s plans for him, but when I heard that his new pet sitter was included in the line-up, I balked.  I fussed.  I huffed and pointed at shallow bikini pictures and pulled at my hair.</p><p>“She’s another Insta freak with a collagen addiction.  She’s <em> using </em> you.”</p><p>“Yes, she is.  And I’m using her.”</p><p>“But Liz used you for a fucking <em> decade</em>!”</p><p>He’d shrugged.  “Yeah, well...same.”</p><p>I’d thrown up my hands and paced around in long strides.</p><p>“It’s true, Timmy,” he’d said quietly.  “I know you don’t want to think of it like that, but it’s true.  Liz and I were both miserable...and we both benefited.  Until neither of us could take it anymore.”</p><p>“And you want to go right back into that?”</p><p>He’d stared at the floor, linked his fingers together over his knees.  “No, of course not.  Of course I wish things were different.  But this is the game we have to play right now, and you know exactly why that is.”</p><p>I’d kicked the wall.  It hurt.  “<em>Fuck</em>!”</p><p>He’d sprung up and hooked his hand around my neck, pulled me against his chest.  “It’s okay, Timmy, it’s okay.  I love you.  It’s okay…”  </p><p>And I didn’t know why he kept murmuring this to me, over and over in low waves, until I realized that his shirt was wet, soaked through with my tears.  When had that happened?  <em> Why </em> had that happened?</p><p><em> You know why</em>.</p><p>“I hate this so much, Armie.”</p><p>“I know, Timmy, I know.”  His voice had been airless, defeated.</p><p>Exhausted.</p><p>So has he decided that, once again, he couldn’t take the lies anymore?  That it isn’t worth it?</p><p>Does he think that the plastic dog lady is a better fit for him?  Easier to handle?  Less work?</p><p>I flop back on the bed, dizzy and nauseated.  <em> You’re an asshole, Chalamet. </em>  All of my blubbering and bullshit.  All of my insecurities and neediness, all of the phone calls and the meetings and the advanced planning.  Why would anyone in their right mind sign on for that shit?</p><p>
  <em> Did I lose him? </em>
</p><p>I did, didn’t I?  He’s sick of it.  Fed up.  Moving on.</p><p>He’s gone, he’s fucking <em> gone </em></p><p>I throw myself on the ground and crawl over to my phone, drag my fingers over it repeatedly until it finally unlocks, wipe my face with the crook of my elbow.  What do I do?  How do I get him back?  Should I call him?  What if he doesn’t answer?  Do I leave a message?  No, I… I should get on a plane, right?  I can be in California in, what, twelve hours?  That’s not so bad.  I can do that.  Brian can cancel my interview tomorrow, and I’ll pack right now.  I...I can--</p><p>A sharp knock at the door sends a jolt up my spine, makes me yelp and drop the phone again.  </p><p>Probably housekeeping with their usual shitty timing.  Fucking extra blankets.</p><p>I stumble to my feet and trudge to the door and lean against it, cup my hand, and call,  “No, thank you!”</p><p>The thud is louder this time. I grab the knob and squeeze my eyes shut, cough to settle my voice.  “Non merci, je n'en ai pas besoin…”  and pull open the door.</p><p>There’s no one there.</p><p>Are you fucking kidding me?  <em> Jesus, not right now</em>.  I’ll be in the mood for this ridiculousness when my world isn’t crumbling at my feet in a pile of ash and desert sand.</p><p>“Ummm...Madame?”</p><p>A head shoots out from the side of the door frame, wide eyes and twisted grin, blonde hair neatly parted and combed, our special black and white striped shirt circling his neck.</p><p>I just stare.</p><p>“Someone told me this is where I can find the Duke’s son...Paul whatshisguts...you seen him?”  He leaps fully into the doorway.  “Surprise!”  He pumps a fist to the sky, broad smile fully electric.  “Holy <em> shit, </em> that was awesome, dude!  Are you kidding me right now?  Are you <em> actually </em> kidding me?  <em> How fucking awesome was that?? </em>”</p><p>He runs into the room full-tilt, picks me up smoothly and spins me around and around, and I clutch his biceps and laugh with him until I can feel my blood move again, until my cheeks hurt with the joy of it, the joy of a grinning Armie Hammer here, now, the rush of his energy filling every deadened corner of the room.</p><p>“I must’ve watched that trailer a hundred fucking times on the plane, no joke.  My goddamn phone died, do you believe that?  The lady next to me thought I had some kind of mental disease or something.  ‘Ah, no, you old bat, just my shit handsome boyfriend who is going to win himself a <em> goddamn fucking Oscar </em> this year, that’s all.’”  He drops me down, and I disappear into one of his bear hugs, but I can feel the vibration of every word bubbling out of him.  “You are going to slay every fucking person in that role.  <em> Jesus </em> you’re <em> so wonderful. </em>   Do you <em> know </em> how wonderful you are?  Did Denis really give you any kind of perspective on this?  Because you really are king now, man.  This is going to launch you into the stratosphere, just like <em> that! </em>” He snaps his fingers for emphasis and claps his hands together, rubbing them like he’s plotting the path of constellations back in Joshua Tree over one of our roaring bonfires.</p><p>Finally, he grabs my head behind my ears and pulls me back to him, kisses my slack mouth one lip at a time, then both, and it is so good to feel that control, that life, the flow of oxygen from him to me, just like always.</p><p>He tilts back, toothy smile showing off his fangs, kisses my forehead.  He squeezes my arms and turns to go grab his suitcase from the hallway.  When he shuts the door firmly, he comes back and finds me unmoved.  “Hey, you okay?”</p><p>I nod jerkily.  “Yeah, Armie...yeah, I...I’m fine.”</p><p>“Great!”  He zips open his suitcase and pulls out a couple of shirts that he hangs in the closet.  “So I should warn you that before I flew out I had a little convo with Ms. Pauline, and <em> she </em> will be choosing the restaurant tonight.”  He waggles his head in saucy imitation of my sister.  “She insisted.  I told her I had some old favorites, but she laughed and called me a foolish American.  You believe that shit?”  He chuckles.  “I’m going to order everything in Spanish tonight, just to fuck with her.”</p><p>He pulls out a toiletry bag and drops it next to mine, tugs off his shoes and lines them up in front of the small desk.  He hates to wear his street shoes inside.</p><p>“You really liked it?”  I ask, my voice hoarse.</p><p>He whips his head around and comes back over to me, and I see his jaw clench, eyes a fierce ice blue.  “<em>Dune </em> is going to fuck up this whole industry, Timmy.  You’ll tear this shit <em> down</em>!"</p><p>I grab his hand and squeeze it hard in both of mine.  “I didn’t know you were coming.”</p><p>He bit his lip, pink surging in his cheeks.  “Dipped out last minute.  The beauty of getting all my ‘professional candids’ done in one week.  Now, no one will even notice I’m not hitting the gym or swimming in a goddamn pool, and if they do, that’s the miracle of backposting, right?”  He gives my cheek a quick kiss.  “Know what?  We should get some champagne delivered!  Let’s get this Chala-bration <em> on</em>!”</p><p>He beams, giggling to himself as he wanders into the bathroom and closes the door.</p><p>I crumple onto the bed, panting, twist the duvet when I curl onto my side, my vision black.  It feels just like when I was little and I would stand up too fast and all the blood would drain from my head.  One time, I’d actually fainted, fell backwards defenseless and cracked my head on the hardwood floor.  The spot was tender for months after, years after.  I knew that I just had to learn how to stretch my legs properly before I could stand and take a solid step, to give my blood a chance to relearn its pathway back to my heart so that the rest of me could manage to function.</p><p>That patience clearly is a lesson I still have not learned.</p><p>Vaguely I hear the toilet flush, and a few seconds later the entire room shakes when Armie belly-flops onto the bed next to me.  He mimics my posture, tucks his knees and bends his spine and makes himself as small as possible to fit into my view.  And he’s spent an entire day getting here, dealing with delays and traffic, getting shit from Evelyn and hazed by Pauline, but he’s still smiling at me like he can’t stop, his lips nearly quivering as if it’s all he can do not to laugh out loud.</p><p>He’s beautiful.</p><p>I reach out, touch my fingertips to his cheek.  “I can’t believe you’re here, you’re really here…”  I know there’s wonder in my voice, but there always is when I look at him.</p><p>“I’m here.”  He pulls two of my fingers to his lips, kisses them gently.  “I was always here.”</p><p>My eyes sink closed.  “I know...”</p><p>He kisses my palm, my wrist.  “But I missed you anyway.”</p><p>When my eyes open, I see him studying my face again, forehead smooth and tan, dimples deep as his lips tuck back in their soft smile.  “Am I different now, away from the desert?” </p><p>“Yeah, you are,” he murmurs.  “In fact, you change all the time, Timmy.  But you’re supposed to.  We all are.”  He runs a finger over my eyebrows, around my cheek.  “And you just keep getting better and better.”</p><p>I huff, “That’s not true.”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> true.”  He tips his head and kisses the orbit of my eye.  “I know it for a fact, and now, the entire world is going to.  <em> Everything </em> is going to change soon, Timmy.”</p><p>I push my face closer, tuck my nose beneath his, nuzzle his cheek.  “That scares me, Armie,” I whisper.  “That scares me <em> so fucking much</em>!  I mean, what if--”</p><p>A finger presses to my lips.  “Hey, now--fear is the mindkiller, isn’t it?  I think I read that somewhere...”  I snort, and his hand moves around and caresses my neck, the base of my skull.  I snug closer to him, push my knee between his legs.  “We’ll adapt, Timmy, no matter what we will face.  That’s how everything survives in the desert, right?  It finds a way.  And why?  Because life won’t be denied.  It fights to survive.  It takes all of the floods, and it takes every long drought, and it still flourishes.  And that’s what we’ll do, too.”</p><p>“We will?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“But what if the fight gets too much?  What if you decide you can’t do it anymore?”</p><p>“Then I better have you to lean on.  Because you won’t let me fall.”  His other arm plunges underneath me, and he holds me tight to him while he rolls flat, and I climb the rest of the way up so that I’m laying on top of him.  “Nothing in the desert survives alone.”</p><p>He’s right about me.  I <em> am </em> different now.  I feel different.  But only because I’ve never stopped falling in love with him, and I don’t even know what lies beyond that, that sensation of perpetual motion every time I look at him closely and he does something new that is breathtaking.</p><p>I lay my hands flat to both sides of his face and kiss him, pull at his lips in slowly deepening waves until I hear him exhale through his nose as his hands drift to the small of my back, circle there before their gentle pressure urges my hips down.  I gasp into his mouth, and my hands fall to the mattress so I can push up on my fists, give myself the leverage to grind my hips against his.</p><p>I stare down into his face, and his eyes are fixed on mine, so I can watch them change, how they darken moment by moment while I feel him harden, how they grow more intense when my jaw loosens and goes slack.  How running my tongue over my bottom lip pulls a soft moan from his throat.  How his hands expanding to grip my ass makes me throw my head back and beg.  How his arms take the motion from my hips, take over all control when I don’t want it anymore, when all I can manage are the broken syllables of his name.</p><p>Because he knows what I need.  He knows to lay me out, to strip me down, to take us both in one of his huge hands so mine can dig into his shoulders.  He knows exactly how to hold me and tease me until all I can do is surrender, to let the sands take me while I throw my hands to the sky to pray.</p><p>Later, when I am still boneless and he snores softly next to me, I think of all of the stories throughout time of men being lost in a desert, of the battles and the horror and the death that fill them.  And it occurs to me that ours could be the very first story that is the complete opposite, the first one where new life is found in a place that most people think life cannot exist.  It is a narrative that Hollywood steadfastly refuses to write, so we’ll just have to do it ourselves.</p><p>And we will find a way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Joshua trees in the California national park were apparently so named because Mormon settlers thought they resembled Joshua raising his arms in prayer (apparently so that God would pause the sun and moon so his armies could continue to fight their battle in daylight).  Somehow, I think the battle to change the culture of homophobia in Hollywood seems far more daunting than any war, and the tree's ability to succeed in a harsh and unrelenting environment seems apt to the the task.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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